


Times Change

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [20]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Arguing, Birthday Parties Are Important, Catcoons, Death, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Reviving, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Aging in the Constant is tricky business





	1. Haircut

“Webber, can you do something for me?”

They looked up, mandibles twitching as their eyes squinted in the day high sun. It was bright, has been bright lately, and their eyes were so much more comfortable in the dark of night than this blindness they now woke up to these days.

Wendy's silhouette was outlined dark with the sun's light, tall and lean, and Webber tilted their head and scooted over under the shade of the birch tree, clicking quietly as they pushed away the silk and twigs in the grass.

For fishing rods, the nearby pond their focus for today, and even from here they could see a frog giving them a blank look, fat tongue sliding over one eye.

“Of course Wendy!” Webbers voice clicked and churred, mandibles helping to gurgle out a rough voice as their all too human tongue became thick and dry in their spider mouth. “What is it?”

The girl sighed, heavy and yet emotionless, and when she entered the shade Webber blinked a few of their eyes to try and focus her outline, to be less blurry and sun blinded. Her hair was pulled back and tied, leaving her face more bare than they were used to seeing, and after a moment she pulled off the straw hat on her head and slid down, criss crossing her legs.

A faint breeze picked up, made Webber straighten their back and stretch their mandibles to air out their fur as best as they could, closing a few eyes at the gentle feeling. Summer was right around the corner, the heat waves already started along with the sweltering brightness of hot light.

They were thinking of moving to the caves, just for awhile. 

Wendy held out her hand, offering something, Webber blinking a few eyes disjointedly as they tried to identify it, already reaching out to hold it in their big claws.

“Can you cut my hair for me?”

Webber turned the makeshift scissors over in their hands, like two razors smushed together, wooden handles and two fine, if a little scratched up, blades. When they looked back at her, Wendy was already turned away, looking out to the pond with her hands in her lap.

“Have you asked anyone else?” Webber tilted their head, mandibles clicking and scratching through the fur of their face, a few eyes screwing up as the brightness, even in the shade, got too much. “We aren't so good at cutting hair.”

Wendy didn't answer them, just sighed.

They might have frowned, if a spider could have, limbs and mandibles twitching and moving in thought.

“Have you asked Mr. Higgsbury?” 

“The only thing he knows is shaving.” Wendy huffed at the suggestion, folding her arms. “I'd be bald once Wilson was done with me.”

Webber giggled at that, soft clicking churrs of spider sound at the image of a bald Wendy. The memory of having the man help them with their silk production when it got too hard for them to do by themselves resurfaced and they laughed a little softer.

“Like the time we asked for his help?” Chirped Webber, mandibles and limbs scratching through their warm fur and against the chitin plates of their face. This heat made them itchy, and it certainly would be nicer in the caves.

“You were a sorry sight.” Wendy huffed out what might have been a laugh, and Webber leaned over a bit to catch sight of the small smile on her face. “Wickerbottom nearly had a fit when she saw you.”

Webber nodded, turning the scissors in their hands over again and again, dragging one claw down the wooden handle and its engravings.

“Is this hers?” They held up the scissors, Wendy glancing back to them for a moment before looking away.

“I'm borrowing it.” The girl shrugged, not at all looking fazed. “She won't be missing it anyway.”

Webber churred idly, touching the groove of WB and admiring the handles. The old woman may know many things and was good at crafting, but this had to have been made by someone with a know how of wood.

“What about Mr. Woodie?” At Wendy's questioning glance they elaborated, tapping a claw on the closed blades and clicking deep in their throat, tongue dry and warm. “Couldn't he give you a haircut?”

Wendy shrugged, hunched her shoulders as she turned away.

“He seemed busy, so I didn't ask.”

Webber clicked a few more times, thinking, before decided to leave it be with a shrug.

“Okay then. How short do we cut it?”

They scooted over, right behind Wendy, and she reached behind to start undoing her tied up hair, spider silk band coming undone. When she shook her hair out, Webber squinted their eyes and raised the scissors, ready to focus.

“As short as you can make it.” Wendy let them comb their claws through her hair as they tried to figure out where exactly they should start, her hands in her lap.

The frog over by the pond had moved a bit, turning its head to look into the pond with wide, bulbous eyes.

Sticking out their tongue in concentration, mostly a relief since it felt too big for their spider mouth lately, Webber bundled up a bunch of Wendys blonde hair, dry and splitting at the ends from the heat, and proceeded to start chopping it all off.

Like they had said earlier, they weren't very good at it, but she didn't seem to care all that much.

“Hmmm, what about Mr. Wolfgang? Or Miss Wickerbottom?”

“I don't think Wolfgang has enough hair to know how to give a haircut to someone.” Wendy sounded exasperated, but Webber took it in stride.

“He has enough on his chest?” Webber squinted shut a few more eyes before opening them up to snip at some stray strands of air, trying not to tangle their claws up.

“That's.” Wendy was silent a moment, and Webbers mandibles scrunched up close to their face as they tried to not start laughing. “That is not the same thing, Webber. Not at all.”

Sometimes Wendy took them too serious.

“Then Miss Wickerbottom then?” They chopped a bit too low and sideways there, squinting as they tried to correct their mistake and instead making the cut look even rougher. “She must know how to cut hair.”

“She doesn't want me to cut my hair.” Wendys voice grew a little harder, a little angrier even, and Webber stilled a moment to listen quietly. “A proper lady takes care of her hair, she doesn't chop it off at any inconvenience.”

She wasn't shaking in anger, voice stiff and cold, but Webber raised a hand to pat her on the shoulder.

“Sometimes Miss Wickerbottom…” They trailed off a moment, remembering the reason they had left the main camp a few summers ago.

“Sometimes old people are just mean.” They said simply, not really finding a better excuse.

It wasn't that they disliked the old woman, the one person who seemed to really, really care about them, reminding them so much of their old relatives from long ago, but the older they got the harder it was to listen.

And sometimes, what they wanted wasn't what everyone else wanted, and they had decided to move on when that happens.

When they died, later on, they'd move back in, that safety net needed for their younger age, but right now they were just fine on their own.

Wendy sighed, her shoulders drooping as Webber went back to their work, claws carefully bundling up her long hair.

“I agree.” she said simply, and Webber churred a low sound, remembering the other naturally older person that they sometimes met up with. Her uncle wasn't much better.

The older the both of them got, the more often they went at odds with the old people around them.

For a moment they sat in silence, just the snipping of the scissors and Webbers quiet chirps and hiccups of clicking spider noise, the earlier breeze dying away and leaving a stuffy, warm atmosphere in its place. The sun was slowly but surely approaching noon, the soon to be summer approach swelling with its new heat, and both were lost to their inner thoughts before Wendy suddenly spoke up.

“Do you know what I saw this morning?”

Webber stilled a moment, tilting their head before their limbs helped to smooth out their friends hair, careful to not tug as they pulled and spread about strands to snip and cut.

“What?”

“Willow without her shirt.”

Webber scrunched up a few of their eyes, human tongue giving them trouble a moment from all the heat as the scissors cut through a rugged, knotted patch of her hair.

“In camp?”

Wendy nodded, her voice a little lighter and distracted. “Yep.”

They chirped quietly, almost giggles at the image. “We bet Miss Wickerbottom wasn't very happy about that.”

“They were already arguing when I caught sight of them.” Wendy brushed back a few stray strands of hair, Webber gently taking them to snip and snap at. “Try to get my bangs.”

“What?”

She pushed more of her hair back, waited for them to reach over to cut through, nonchalant and with an air of careless apathy. “They get in my eyes, especially when it's humid. Anyway, they weren't actually arguing about Willow being shirtless.”

Webber clicked deep in their throat in response, lilting in curiosity even as they narrowed their eyes to focus on trying to cut more evenly, trying to keep their hand steady.

“Wickerbottom was trying to give her all her old bras.”

That made Webber stop a moment, mandibles and limbs curling in mild confusion, claws still entwined with most of Wendy's hair. “Why?”

Wendy actually laughed, tilting her head back before pressing a hand to her mouth, the thought funnier now that she was telling Webber all about it.

“Becauses Willow’s getting old again and it's showing.”

If a spider could look even more confused Webber would have looked so. They leaned around, to try and catch Wendy's gaze, and churred in their throat in even more questioning sounds.

“What do bras have to do with getting older?” They tilted their head, genuinely curious, and Wendy actually face palmed for a moment before answering.

“Sometimes your boobs fall when you age.” She made an example, cupping imaginary in front of her chest for a moment before exaggeratingly dropping them to her knees, still not at all very serious. “You don't really see it with Wickerbottom, but with Willow it's really easy to tell.”

“But…” Webbers face scrunched up, looking to their own furry chest. “We don't have boobs…”

Wendy shrugged, flipping the hair Webber hadn't cut yet behind her. “So you don't have to wear a bra then.”

“Do you wear a bra?”

“Nope.” Webber went back to using the scissors, still churring in thought as they snipped unevenly and roughly. “I don't like them.”

“What happens when you get older?” Webber stopped again, suddenly a little distressed. “You'll have to wear something you don't like!”

“I'll do what Willow does.” She turned her head, gave Webber a cheeky grin that might have been more of a smirk, the family resemblance with another of the group very striking for a moment. “And Wickerbottom can't do anything about it.”

Webber was silent, mandibles close to their face as they tapped the scissors to their chin in absent thought, before nodding and returning back to what they had been doing. “That's good.”

Silence once more, a little lighter this time around. The frog by the pond was still there, having shuffled a bit away and looking into the sky, tongue slipping out to clean its bulbous eyes.

“...What're bras like?”

Wendy laughed, quieter, and they had to wait a moment with the scissors as their limbs helped bundle up more of her hair, most of the excess having fallen to the ground around the both of them. Wendy hasn't had her hair done in such a long time, and she sure did have a lot of it.

“If you want, I'll give you the ones Wickerbottom made me.” She had her hand on her cheek, elbow resting on her knee, and Webber had to lean slightly forward to be able to reach more stray strands. “They might not fit you though.”

“That's okay!” Webber nodded, a little excited to try out new articles of clothing. Wickerbottom sure didn't let them try bras on, but now that they were older they could do what they wanted without her telling them no. 

Especially since Wendy was going to let them.

A moment of quiet, Webber careful to not lean on their friend as they tried to grab every last little strand, getting distracted by stray hairs that escaped them, now with most of Wendy's hair gone.

“...Wigfrid died a few days ago.”

That stilled them, hearing the quiet in her voice, and Webber didn't make a sound as their mandibles pulled close at the thought.

“Is everything...alright?”

Wendy sighed, shoulders falling, and Webber pulled back to set the scissors in their lap and tilt their head, watching their friend with a look of concern that only a spider could give.

“She used the touchstone, nothing's wrong, it's just…” 

A moment of nothing, heavy weight in the air as Webber was patient, a few eyes closing to the brightness as the thought of death, especially to one of their friends, practically family, hung in their head.

“...She’s happier.”

Webber clicked at that, listened to the drop of emotion in her voice, sudden blankness, the loss of feeling. It reminded them of when the both of them were younger, Wendy's child voice empty and unfeeling.

Nowadays she sounded like she felt a lot more, very often.

“I went hunting with her, yesterday, and-” Wendy suddenly laughed, a cough of sound more like, made Webber suddenly feel heavier in their chest. “She didn't even need my help. Took down three beefalo, bulls even, all by herself.”

“She's so happy now.”

Unsaid words behind that, Webber remembering how the woman had been needing help getting around before they had left to go off on their own, how vigorously she raved and sang and played out her victories with her voice, now that her legs couldn't move her so quickly. Wickerbottom knew of these things already, stayed with anyone who got older and was so unsure of it all, and now that they thought about it they've never really realized that someone like Wigfrid could get so slow and quiet as she had been.

But now she was back to her old self.

“She must like running again.” Webber said quietly, hesitating a moment before reaching for some more of Wendys scraggy long hair, not much left for them to work on anymore.

“Yeah.” Another laugh, strained almost, and Webber churred in concern as Wendy pressed one of her hands to her face, to her eyes. “The funny thing is, though, is that Willow looks so old compared to her now.”

She huffed, straightening her shoulders as if getting a hold of herself, and Webber held the scissors in their claws but waited patiently for their friend to stop moving so that they could continue. 

“I was talking to her, last night. Helping her make dinner, while Wigfrid was with Wickerbottom counting out the new supplies.” Wendy sighed out a breath, quiet like, and after a moment Webber reached out a hand to pat her shoulder, low clicking deep in their throat. “Do you know what she told me?”

“...What?”

“That she hated aging.” There was another smirk on her face, a grimace more like and odd tilt of her head that reminded Webber of when they were younger. “Or, to be more accurate, she said she ‘hated being so fucking old’.”

Webber was silent a moment, no sound between them, before their mandibles twitched and their tongue felt heavy in their throat.

“Do you think she…-”

“Of course.” Wendy suddenly reached both hands to her head and started to push what was left of her hair to the back, Webber raising their claws and limbs to get the scissors back into order. “Didn't you hear the lightning strike earlier?”

“...I was in the forest...getting silk.” Webber glanced to their supplies, mind churning with the knowledge of what had happened while they were doing something so frivolous.

“I heard it while out looking for you.” Wendy crossed her arms in her lap, tilting her head up and taking a deep breath.

“Wickerbottom will be angry with her…”

“Yep.”

Silence found them again, this time a little heavier, darker, and by the time Webber found themselves snipping the last long strands of hair that they could get a hold of the sun was falling, deepening orange and red with its long noon.

There was an almost silent splash, the vacancy left by the frog empty and wide by the pond, and Webber clicked deep in their throat, deep in their chest, belly a quiet growl only they could hear as the thought of fish rose up in their mind. They'd need to finish their fishing rods after this, catch some food.

Out on their own like this, they didn't have anyone but themselves to support. Back at their nesting sight, only a few spiders resided, all out on their own for now with no Queen to protect them all.

When they got older, if they didn't die first, they'd be able to be that protector, warriors to join with them too. Food would not be an issue then.

“...All done.” Webber scooted back as Wendy raised her hands to run through her rugged hair, rough and all sorts of chopped up, not at all looking smooth or well done. When she turned around, however, she was smiling, a small upturn of her face as she felt around.

Without all that hair to frame her face, their friend looked quite different now, a lot less burdened down.

“Thank you, Webber.” She took back the scissors they offered up to her, standing up and brushing stray hairs and strands from her clothing.

“What do you want to do with all this?” Webber clicked, mandibles twitching and itching over their chitinous face as they started to bundle up the blonde gold hairs, dry and smooth.

“Whatever you want, I don't need it.” Wendy looked down at them, silent a moment as she turned the scissors about in her hands. “Perhaps you can spin it all into gold thread.”

Webbers confused glance made her cross her arms, silhouette outlined all too darkly with the suns setting brightness, their eyes scrunching up as they tried to see without too much trouble. “You should know that story.”

At their continued confusion she sighed, waved a hand out idly. “Rumplestiltskin?” 

Realization dawned almost immediately at the name, mandibles and limbs twitching as their eyes widened in only a way a spiders eyes could, and Webber chirped out an almost hum of acknowledgement, nodding their head hastily.

“We know that one! We remember it!”

Wendy tilted her head, suddenly gaining a serious, thoughtful tone in her voice. “Did you know the little man tears himself in half in the end?”

If a spider could look horrified Webber would be the one, limbs drooping in shock and jaw slackening at the sudden knowledge. Wendy nodded at their expression, the brightness too much for them to know what her face looked like.

“We thought he just ran away, never to be seen again!” Their voice rose a pitch, mandibles and limbs twitching as the realization processed in their mind.

“No, he stomps so hard he gets his foot stuck in the floor, and then tears himself in half trying to get out.” Wendy tapped her chin with the scissors wooden handles, tilting her head. “Who told you that ending, then?”

“Miss Wickerbottom…” Their voice trailed off, amazed at having gotten the wrong ending from her of all people. How could she have not known?

“Winona told me that one. Perhaps Wickerbottom thought you were too young to know the ugly truth.”

Oh.

Webber quieted, limbs pulling close as they turned their gaze to the blonde strands all about them, bundled thickly and all tangled up.

“I'll see you later, Webber.” Wendy almost reached out before stopping, hesitated a moment before instead raising her hand to give them a small wave. “Thank you again for the haircut.”

And then she was gone, walking out into the bright noon sun, around the pond with its frogless shore.

Webber watched her a moment, squinting their eyes as they tried to combat the ache of brightness, and only giving up when her blurry form finally faded into blindness.

Then they looked back down, to their silk and twig supplies for fishing, and the blonde gold hair strewn about them. Reaching out, carefully twining gold with silk strands, skillfully tying to sturdy thick twigs and sticks, Webber whistled out a quiet, spider hummed sound.

Maybe they'll hold off on going into the caves, for a little while. 

There was still something to live for, up here. They didn't want to leave that just yet.


	2. Be Home Soon

The caves echoed with their quiet churring, clicking spider noise rumbling in their chest, alone.

The webbing sticking to Webber was weak now, shedding in strands, sticky with their purple blood. They curled their arms closer,limbs and mandibles taunt to their face, and every breath was deep, strained, many eyes closed.

They had lost the fight, the dispute, their territory and warriors taken, spiderlings murdered in the mini war. The other Queen now had ownership of that all, Webber driven away and finally, finally accepting defeat after one too many blows. 

Their blood was splattered in a trail, taking drifting strands of silk and nesting and making a half hearted attempt to create a new nest over a cliff face, but they were much too exhausted to keep going. Deep shuddering breath rose from their chest, mandibles outstretching to try and help ease the pressure, the cracks in their carapace pushing and jutting inwards, but there was no pain.

They've grown too much to feel that way anymore. The body they now owned couldn't comprehend it all, not like how they had when they were younger, and they churred to themself at the blessing.

Their memory may be spotty, especially now, at this age, but Webber remembered pain, and death. They remembered agony.

They couldn't feel that now, however, and they slowly closed their eyes, resting against the cool cavern flooring and its specks of their webbing, feeling hot as their fur puffed up and shivered. Low clicking in the back of their throat, in the deep of their chest, mandibles wiggling idly as their breathes grew deeper, heavier, slower.

And then there was sound.

Footsteps, light and airy and sharp on smooth stone, the low humming of a lantern from the hand. They chirped, a quiet, almost distressed sound, a few of their fatigued eyes slowly opening up.

The bulbed light was easy on their eyes, not as harsh as sun or fireflies, a clear smoothness that reminded them of the plants that grew here, deeper into the tunnels and cliffs. It took a moment for them to organize their thoughts, to recognize that there was an actual someone holding the lantern up.

“There you are.”

A quiet, lilting sing song voice, familiar and almost comforting, and Webber had the strength to chur out spider sound, softer than most of their brethren. Another light source joined within the darkness, floating vaguely above, and it drifted close, their eyes sliding into a slow blink as their vision swam.

There was a figure, both lights calm and soft as they caught a glimpse of swirling red and blonde, nausea twisting in their gut. There was no sound but the footsteps, confidently moving up closer, and Webber burbled out a different sound, spider throat constricting as warm blood flooded their throat. They couldn't taste the iron, not anymore, not after their last molting anyway, yet Wendy's hesitant, yet calming voice spoke up enough for them to know that they looked like a mess.

“You've looked..better, Webber.”

Now close enough for even Webbers distorted, fading eyesight to catch, they looked at their friend, her tilting her head to watch them with wide, pale eyes.

The last time they had seen her had been ages ago, when they were both near the same age.

Now, however, it was almost dizzying seeing their friend, so small and petite, compared to their larger, web and carapace growth form. Even in their nearing death Webber clicked out a few soothing spider noises, sounds they'd whistle to the younger spiders of their nest, slowly pushing themselves up somewhat with their tired, shaking arms.

“Don't get up, I don't mind.” Wendy was eyeing the pool of blood underneath them, spreading out as their wounds continued to ooze. With something sort of like a sigh, but not really, Webber slid back down onto the sticky cold ground, a few eyes sliding shut at how pleasant the stone was.

They were so tired.

Wendy's sister drifted about them a moment, only a faint airy whisper from her that they could hear clearly, and their friend nodded thoughtfully.

“There was a queen, back behind us. Did she do this to you?”

Webber watched her a moment before nodding their head, a dip down before they rested fully onto cave stone, mandibles and limbs adjusting and popping into more comfortable positions.

“You won't have to worry about her, Abigail took care of it.” 

Something like a chuckle slipped from them, taking a deep, stuttered breath to let it all out, and they curled their arms close to their body, a small act of comfort. Even though they still felt so, so hot, now it was slowly growing colder and their fur, patched and rough from the fight, puffed up as best as they could.

Footsteps grew closer, a change in the sound into something wetter, and a few of their eyes opened in concern as Wendys shoes started to get soaked in purple. She didn't at all seem to mind, nor care as Abigail followed close behind, a floating ethereal fog as her sister kneeled down next to them, blood soaking into her skirt.

“Sorry that we couldn't visit earlier.” Wendy adopted a sadder look, only a slight hint of it on her neutral face. “No one wants me to go down here, Abigail included.”

The ghost at her side cooed quietly, drifting down to look Webber over, drifting above after a moment. Her light had a calming effect on them, remembering nights when they had been younger and more afraid, of sitting out in the darkness with their sleeping friend and only her sisters light to keep the monsters away.

They weren't afraid of the dark anymore, not since long ago, but yet Webber murmed quiet sound that was almost words, quiet mumbles and squeaks. Their claws twitched, limbs pulled close to their face as they blinked slowly, another ragged rasping from their chest as they took a deep breath. The scraping of their stiff exoskeleton, broken and damaged into jutting into them, wasn't full of pain but discomfort, an almost wince as their breath stirred the damage about.

From the way their friend was looking at them, Webber slowly exhaled and quieted, closing all their eyes but for a few, to keep an eye on her.

“I'll stay for awhile, if that is fine.” Not a question or even asking, just a simple statement from her child toned, neutral voice. With that the girl slipped her backpack from her shoulders, digging out something before dropping down the grass roll and proceeding to sit upon it, crossing her legs. Spider blood soaked into it, but the roll was thick enough to keep Wendy dry and she clasped her hands in her lap, looking out into the darkness of the cliff face.

Webber breathed deep, churring more slight spider sound, to break the silence, and perhaps try to give their friend a comfort that she didn't seem to even need.

“...Wickerbottom will be angry once she finds out where I went.” Her voice didn't portray any emotion, stiff and empty, but just the plain fact of hearing a voice, a familiar, comforting one, conveyed enough already.

They haven't talked to anyone in quite awhile; the caves were not a social place, and this time around they didn't meet anyone naturally down here.

Which was fine, Webber had other friends. 

Which reminded them of the previous destruction, of their destroyed nest, of their dead spiderlings. Their dead friends.

Webber knew deep down they'd never see them again, but that wouldn't stop them from hoping. They got to see Wendy each time, so maybe someday they'll find the others too.

“She passed recently, so you know how she can be.” Wendy wasn't looking at them, was fiddling with her hands, her sister circling above them. The light of the lantern at Wendy's side combined with the spirit was soothing, comforting, and Webber heaved another breath, not enough energy to try and click or chirp to their friend. “The older she gets, the easier it is to escape her notice.”

Their eyesight was failing, finally giving up on looking to their friend and sliding their eyes shut, a heaved sigh from their broken chest.

Earlier they would have mourned their death, stubbornly try to fix their body up, but Webber had their friend by their side now. It was easier to accept passing when comfort was so close.

The both of them sat in silence, the low humming of the lantern the only sound besides Webbers rasping breaths, slowing down now. Abigail cooed quietly to herself, dim whispers and sounds, circling slowly above the both of them.

“It was hounds, you know.”

Their mandibles twitched, the only indication that they were listening, or even still could.

“I wasn't paying much attention, since Wickerbottom was being ripped apart beside me.”

It pained them, to think of their friend getting hurt, killed even, and they couldn't have helped prevent it.

After all, they had moved down here, by themselves. The sunlight hurt too much, and it was cooler, safer down here. The deep forest had long stopped working, and nothing the spider's did could have prevented them from leaving.

It was what Webber did each time, no matter who they grew up with. The old woman, the scientist, the lumberjack, even the former magician; they always were called down to this place.

And they've always died down here, in the end.

For a second they clicked out a sound, but got cut off by blood in their mouth, mandibles and mouth parts wiggling as they breathed heavily. 

Wendy seemed to get it, however, and she only hesitated a moment before patting them on the head. Abigail murmured, drifted down as if to examine them, foggy form dim and soft beside the splash of color from her wilting flower.

They couldn't open their eyes, but that was okay. Wendy and Abby were here.

“But I suppose you wouldn't want to hear of my death, Webber.” They heard her sigh, her sisters cooing whispers not even loud enough to echo in the caverns. “Don't worry; everything is fine now.”

A moment of silence, even Abigail quieting, the silence of the caverns and only the lanterns humming buzz.

It usually was empty, without their spider friends. The air didn't feel empty now.

“Well, camp almost burned down a few days ago. You can probably guess who did it.” They heard her shift about, adjust how she was sitting, and attempted to quiet their loud, rasping breath. Webber wanted to hear their friend, not their own death throes. “Apparently, someone told Willow where the fire staffs were.”

They could practically hear her shrug. “We don't have any more of those now. From what Wigfrid was telling me, it was an attempt to make fireworks.”

“But I guess throwing gunpowder in the air and trying to hit it with a fire staff doesn't quite have the same effect.”

For a moment she was silent, a comfortable air between the two of them as Webber relaxed more, drifting perhaps a little, mouth parts and mandibles and limbs loosening to the chill cavern floor.

Sometimes they felt ashamed of their curling deaths, a spiders death; Wendy never said anything about it however.

“...I think they were trying to celebrate my birthday. Even though I've told them it wasn't worth it.”

Abigail cooed a little loudly, dim light circling a little more energetically. Wendy sighed, not quite sounding bored but patient, waiting.

“Abby has always liked birthdays, and I know you like them as well. Perhaps I had reason to not dissuade them from their flammable plans.”

There was another silence, this time longer, only punctuated by Webbers stuttered, long paused breaths, growing slower. Their claws twitched when they felt her reach out, clasp her hands with their spider morphed talons, but they didn't have the energy to respond, drained and feeling so very heavy, foggy.

Thankfully Wendy tightened her own grasp, a squeeze that they could feel even under bone and chitin and thick, rugged, blood soaked bristles.

“There are still a few things leftover. I haven't yet opened my presents.”

She waited a moment, quiet.

“I was waiting for you.”

Abby mumbled a slow string of incomprehensible gibberish, dulled to Webbers senses, and they took a deep, strained breath. 

Wendy waited, hardened bone talons and sharp bristles in one hand, her other resting on the low humming lantern at her side. From here, in the lights clear, white glow, she could see the faint traces of the blood coagulating, drying out in the cold and darkness of the cliff. Her sister floated down, low, ethereal fog brushing through the purple liquid as she glided close, examining, patient.

Wendy has always been the most patient of the two of them, but the time spent in this place seems to have slowed her sister down considerably.

She gave the spirit an unreadable glance, listening as the silence grew around them, tilting her head and closing her eyes for only a brief, mourning moment.

Then she slipped her hand away, stood up and brushed nonexistent dust from her skirt. She stooped to pick up the lantern, then to swing the backpack over her shoulders, brushing her hair out of the way as best as she could so that it fell over the pack instead of getting pulled by its heavy weight. If she opened it she'd have to shield her eyes from the glare; the amount of bulbs she stuffed in there far out matching how much food she had packed, the water and other necessary resources to survive for long down here.

Finding her friend had been more important at the time.

She gave the roll a glance before deciding it wasn't worth the effort of washing and drying it. Grass was easy to find, and she didn't even need one anyway. She had her own tent back with everyone else, up on the surface.

For a moment she stayed still, staring at nothing in particular with the lantern in hand, her sister still hovering close to the ground, calling quietly, softly.

She didn't even bother interrupting Abigail, let her continue on in that near silent, hopeless voice of hers, a mumbling itch at the back of Wendy's brain. There was no reason to.

With a sudden finality, straightening herself and setting her face as neutral as ever, only taking a quick second to swipe at her face and sniffle once, the girl swung around, took a step closer, not at all minding the blood drying on her own shoes. With deft, emotionless haste she bent down to press her forehead against her friends, to look into their still face, many eyes closed and mandibles, various limbs relaxed; she closed her eyes tight before forcing them open again, and when she spoke her voice only wavered for a moment.

“See you back home, Webber.”

And with that she was up and walking away, a certain quickness in her step, head down, and Abigail hovered behind a few seconds more, quietly mourning with wilting flower dulling more and more, before she drifted and caught up with her sister.

Wendys hand was tight on the lanturn, not even giving a glance to the spirit as Abigail whispered soft words, eventually fading into silence.

It would take them a bit before they could reach the surface, the carved stone steps upwards. Wendy looked out over the cliff into its darkness, following the edge closely but not close enough, and her sister drifted between them, a warming, foggy light.

She didn't speak a word, unwilling to break the slowly comforting silence. Abigail's caring presence was enough, spoke enough for the both of them.

It was enough.


	3. Sleepover

“Wendy…?”

She looked up, closing the book in her lap with a quick snap as her friend poked their head in from the tents door, limbs and mandibles wiggling as the fabric hung from their small frame. 

“Yes?”

Webber shuffled uncertainty, wide eyes empty and shining along with the lantern light, the fire pits flame seeping in from behind them. 

It was dark out, way passed anyones bedtime, especially Webbers. In fact, she was fairly certain Wickerbottom had sent them to bed earlier, just as the sun had gone down.

“Can...can we sleep with you?” They chirped quietly, mandibles pulling close to their face as they seemed to look away, uncertain and nervous. “We had a nightmare, and no one's awake.”

Wendy narrowed her eyes at the obvious lie. Their hesitation wasn't the only thing that clued her in; Wickerbottom rarely, if ever, slept.

But she didn't bring it up, gave her friend a searching look as they avoided her gaze before nodding her head, once, a short dip. As they crawled in, fur all puffed up from the outside autumn chill, Wendy scooted to the side from her blankets, leaving enough room for them to slip under and bundle up. 

She gave Webber a passing, curious look, but they had already scrunched up their eyes and curled up, breath easy and relaxed. 

There was no reason to bother them about the nightmares they had or why they'd rather sleep in her tent than Wickerbottoms; she already knew the answer anyway.

And, personally, she'd rather sleep out in the cold than use the old womans bedding. Nothing against her, but Wendy found she'd much rather not.

She waited a moment, looking to where she could see the fires light flickering over the tent fabric, no other silhouettes or movement from the outside nighttime, before sighing and returning to her reading.

The air between them was silent, calm, before Webber shifted, causing her to glance over and see them still very much awake, eyes squinted open and lost in thought before the mandibles about their face twitched.

“Whatcha reading?”

She didn't answer a moment, thinking as she looked down at the wavering lines and shadow scrawls, old scribbles and verses practically engraved into the page. Then she closed the book once more, this time a little quieter, and with more finality.

“The Codex.”

“Oh.” Webbers answer was distracted, quiet, and that silence fell over the both of them for a moment as she waited.

And then they seemed to realize exactly what she had said.

They twisted around, still kept the beefalo fur bedding all wrapped up around them, and if a spider could somehow look both distressed and worried Webber was pulling off the look perfectly.

“Isn't that Mr. Maxwell's book?” They chirped, a little high pitched as they looked at her searchingly, and their concern almost made her laugh.

But Wendy was a little more polite than that and kept it to a small condescending smile.

“Yes, it is.” She turned away, to store the whispering tome into the pack she had specifically for it, easily brushing off the shadowy oil it seemed to be seeping and brushing her hands of it for now. Later, when she was well alone, Wendy would have the time to examine its words a little more clearly.

But she wouldn't do so with her friend here, especially at their age.

When she turned back Webber was still giving her a distressed look, mandibles pulled close and fur all puffed up, an almost frown but not quite on their spider face.

“Isn't he going to be mad at you?” They pulled the blanket close, over their mandibles and jagged teeth, squinting their eyes at her from over the bedding. “You'll get in trouble!”

She tilted her head haughtily, giving off that she wasn't worried whatsoever, nor that she cared at all.

“I think my uncle has more important things to think about than where his old book disappeared to.” Truly, she could give a damn if he did figure out who took it. 

No matter how many times he got it back, Wendy always found it back in her hands, one way or another.

Too bad she always ended up forgetting what, exactly, was written upon its pages each time she was revived. Reading through it, each time, was such a strain.

But her uncle did indeed have more important things to worry about at this point. Wigfrid had recently used an effigy, a brush with the autumn giant gone wrong, and she seemed to have come back with that vengeance in her veins again.

Wendy didn't think it would be long now for that situation to come to a violent, hopefully quick conclusion.

Webber was giving her a sad look, one only a spider could, mandibles dipped and white eyes wide, so she assumed they knew what she was implying.

For a second she almost started gloating, but then she remembered.

They were still too young for that. She'd have to wait, before she could talk unhindered to her friend.

And even then, Webber always seemed to have a soft spot for her uncle. Wendy dipped her head and curbed her tongue.

“You should sleep; don't you have a big day tomorrow?” A distraction, not a very strong one, but it was enough for Webber to raise their mandibles and wiggle under the blankets, suddenly all too excited at the reminder.

“Yeah, Miss Wigfrid's gonna take us out hunting!” Their fur puffed up, many eyes blinking out of sync as they stuck out their tongue and chirped out a few excited sounds. “An she said we could take some of our friends too!”

They sat up, crossing their legs and leaning forward towards her as their voice grew serious, an almost hushed whisper. “We think she's gonna take us to the Bearger. Don't tell Miss Wickerbottom that though, it's a secret!”

Wendy nodded sagely, raising a hand to motion zipping her lips as Webber hissed excited spider noises, clicking and chirping.

The giant had been a hindrance this year, so she didn't wonder on why it was a target. She did, however, feel a little worried that the woman would take Webber of all people.

A larger Webber she'd understand, but right now her friend was still only half her own size, and she wasn't the sturdiest looking person around.

They wiggled their mandibles, chirping still as their eyes all blinked out of order and claws fiddled with the bedding. 

“Mr. Wolfgang’s gonna come too, an you know what he told me?” Their voice grew whispered again, barely containing their childish excitement. “He's gonna pack me a super special lunch for tomorrow, just for me!”

“And!” They took a big breath of air, almost comically, mandibles and limbs wiggling as their voice sped up, clasping claws tight to the fur blanket. “We'regonnamakeyouapresentafterwards!”

Almost too fast to catch, spider sound clicking in their throat, but Wendy just tilted her head and listened as Webber practically vibrated from their excitement. 

“We can't tell you since it's a secret, but we'll give you a hint!” They chirped, eyes wide and sparkling. “It's gonna be super cool and super awesome!”

“Webber.” They quieted, limbs still wiggling as she clasped her hands in her lap with a calm, almost exasperated air. “You don't need to get me any presents you know.”

They huffed, mandibles flaring as they gave her a look and crossed their arms, fur bristling up. “Of course we do! It's gonna be your birthday soon, an birthdays always have presents!”

She thought for a moment, a little genuinely surprised at the response. 

“My birthday isn't close to now though.”

They shook their head, adopting an almost exasperated look. “You can't have forgotten your birthday Wendy! It is close!”

A moment of silence, as Wendy thought that over, before Webber gave her an imploring look suddenly. “You didn't forget our birthday, did you?”

She smiled, reaching out to pat them on their head.

“Of course not, that's in a few days. I already have your present ready.”

Not a lie, not quite. It just wasn't finished yet.

Webbers eyes shined, unblinking as their jaw dropped and mandibles and limbs wiggled excitedly.

“Really?! Oh my gosh-” They clicked deep in their throat, even more excited now as they looked around for a moment, as if they could find the present in plain sight. “-you have to tell us what it is! Is it really big? Or really small? Or-”

“It's a secret.” She interrupted, stopping their babbling in their tracks as they stared at her, mind still obviously turning with what it could possibly be. She thought for a moment, looking to the tents ceiling absentmindedly, before giving her friend a small smile. “I can give you a hint, but you have to be very quiet about it.”

They nodded hastily, almost too fast as she leaned forward and cupped her hand over the side of her mouth, as if it truly was a big,terrible secret.

“Your present,” she said in a whisper, watching Webber as their face grew serious and focused, “-is super cool and super awesome.”

Then she sat back and waited, watched as Webbers face shined with awe before they suddenly realized.

“Hey, that was our presents hint!” 

She laughed, not even bothering to cover her face as they scowled in the only way a spider could, crossing their arms and almost pouting as their limbs pulled in close.

“Like I said, Webber, it's a secret.”

They humphed at her, pouting, but a sudden yawn interrupted them, stretching their mandibles and limbs as they squint their eyes and almost rocked back. When they finally snapped their jaws closed they rubbed at their face, claws careful as their face adopted a more drooping, tired look.

Wendy smirked a bit at how obviously they needed sleep, the exasperation of being interrupted from her reading earlier still there but fading.

Webber was her friend, after all, and sometimes it felt as if she had another sibling around, this time with her in charge.

The flower, wilted and grey with age, has been sitting silently in her pack for a long while now. Abby has always gotten quieter the longer time went by, so Webbers presence was a nice change from her own solitude at times.

“You should go to bed. I know you’re tired.”

“We're not-” Another yawn interrupted them, furry shoulders drooping along with their spider limbs, many eyes all blinking out of sync. “-not tired…”

“Besides.” Webber looked up at her, mandibles twitching as they clicked and churred between their words. “If you stay up, we have to too.”

Wendy sighed, brushed a hand over her forehead as she crossed her arms in her lap. 

“You have to go to bed Webber. I'm an adult, I can decide my own bedtime.”

They shook their head, claws clenching into the blanket as their mandibles wiggled and limbs flared open, eyes squinted in what seemed to be frustration.

“We're not gonna go to sleep unless you do too!” 

She blinked, a little surprised at the forcefulness of their words. They must really want her to rest, if they were going to be so vocal about it.

And Webber was obviously tired out, which wasn't going to spell out anything good for tomorrow when they woke up early.

As they glared at her, patient even as they looked so exhausted, Wendy sighed heavily, firmly shoving back her plans for tonight.

Which, in reality, wasn't all that much.

“Alright then, if you go to sleep, I guess I will too.”

Webber chirped in spider, clapping their claws together as their limbs rubbed at their face, blinking all their eyes tiredly. They started to get back under the covers, beefalo fur bunched up in their claws, however Wendy wasn't done talking yet.

“But…” She gave them a very focused stare, stopping Webber in their tracks, her friend looking up at her wide eyed. “You have to promise me something.”

They tilted their head, mandibles and limbs pulling in close, looking a little worried in the ways that a spider could.

“You have to promise…” Wendy leaned forward, still giving them an unwavering stare. “...to not try and guess my present for you.”

It really wasn't an important thing, but Webber was curious enough to perhaps go snooping in her tent. She didn't want them to accidently hear the Codex’s whispers.

Webber hesitated a split second, face curling in thought, but when they nodded they clicked deep in their throat and gave her a piercing, very serious look.

“You have to promise us something too.” Their tone was firm, even with their pitchy, childish gravel voice. “You have to promise us that you won't steal from Mr. Maxwell anymore.”

When they saw her frown, her own objection just on the tip of her tongue, they shook their head hurriedly, limbs waving chaotically as they raised both their voice and one claw upwards, narrowing their eyes.

“You have to promise us you ask him next time!” They held her gaze, not one to look away first. “It's the right thing to do.”

Wendy chewed on her lip, thinking of how she was practically being schooled by her younger friend, the very idea of of asking such things from her uncle distasteful.

She already knew he'd say no, no matter what, but in the end she dipped her head in a short nod to Webber, her own objections stuffed down her throat quietly.

If she was sneaky enough, then they'd never know. 

But the guilty feeling, of breaking such a frivolous promise with her best friend, would stay her hand.

Webber nodded sagely at her agreement, then held up a taloned hand, one claw extended outwards. 

“You have to pinky promise.” They saw her disbelieving look and their voice grew firm. “You have to! Cross your heart and hope to-”

“-hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” Wendy sighed but reached over, wrapping her pinky around their talon and shaking on it, the promise now sealed. “A deal has been struck then; you go to bed, I stop taking my uncle's things without his permission.”

Webber nodded, yawning mid way with low clicked spider sound. As they rubbed at their face, wiggling back under the furry covers, their voice chirped with noise, limbs pulling close.

“And you have to go to bed too...”

Wendy nodded, watching as they closed their many eyes and curled up, voice trailing off. It didn't take all that long for them to drift off; a part of her envied that of Webber.

Her friend seemed to never be troubled for long.

Taking a moment to look towards the tents door, the firelight outside lower and now more of the dark night, she let out a sigh, a held breath.

Then she turned to the lanturn and its low humming fireflies, reaching over to ease it off, the light dimming. In the pack at her side was low whispers, quick and fast and almost desperate, calling for attention as darkness oozed through the fabric. She shoved it away with an annoyed look, easily brushing off it's crawling advances.

Wendy glanced one more time at her sleeping friend, young face of chitin and spider bristles, toothy fangs and mandibles unable to fit into their slack jaws, already drooling with sleep.

She had made a promise, after all.

Getting under the covers herself, folding her arms over her chest and staring at the tents ceiling, Wendy let out a heavy sigh.

It was too bad she was already going to break it. Insomnia has been a companion for too long for their friends presence to ease.

She'd be staring at the ceiling all night.

But, Wendy thought, glancing to the side and at Webber, at least she wasn't alone.

That was something, at least.


	4. In the tree

There was an insistent yowling out somewhere, loud meows that were more of growling than anything domesticated.

Webber had no idea where the sound was coming from nor why it was happening.

At first they had assumed a catcoon had gotten into a fight with something, maybe an overlarge, overeager frog, but the calls kept coming, getting more and more pitched, to the point where their own ears were ringing with the sound and their mandibles twitched at the nuisance.

They had wanted to go fishing today, but with those calls becoming so distressed Webber had decided to leave their supplies nearby the ponds, stacked and neat for when they returned. Whatever was out there, yowling as it was, had to be in trouble somehow, and they couldn't just keep ignoring it.

It didn't _sound_ human, but one never knew and Webber was even more cautious about that sort of thing. 

Passing deciduous trees, orange and red with mid autumn, the open aired grounds in this area of the island were still lush and full of natural resources. They could see a few burrows nearby, careful to watch their step as to not trip on any hidden by grasses and bushes.

Breaking an ankle wouldn't help them find the source of the yowling, not to mention any other damage they could get from just falling. Sometimes being so big was such a hassle!

At times, Webber couldn't imagine how some of their friends could deal with being so tall and heavy. But, at least they weren't full grown just yet; then they'd not want to move around all that much, and then, they'd not be able to help anyone who would need them!

They jerked their head up from watching the ground as another caterwaul thrummed out, much louder now. Their mandibles twitched, limbs pulling in close as they made their way forward, tilting their head as they tried to concentrate on where the sound was coming from. They must be close.

A clump of berry bushes blocked their way, a few scattering of pines growing close together, and the barrenness alerted them to the presence of someone else around here but then a high pitched yowl of sound rang out, jarring in how close it was and full of so much feline anger and frustration that made the bristles on their neck and back stand up. They crouched forward, brushing the bushes branches as they tried to get through before another sound introduced itself, this time a voice.

“It's perfectly safe, just jump down for god sakes!” 

They tilted their head, claws finally finding passage as they practically trampled through the plants, mandibles twitching and many eyes shining brightly. Webber recognized that voice.

“You'll land on your feet, you blasted animal, that was how you were designed, just jump!”

“Hello Mister Wilson!” Webber crashed out of the bushes, stumbling before catching their footing as their many eyed gaze landed on the rather short man. Their mandibles wiggled and limbs waved, brushing off fallen leaves and twigs stuck up in their fur.

“Just jump down, you won't get hurt, I promise you will not - oh hi Webber.” The man had his arms crossed, just barely acknowledged their presence as he glared up one of the many deciduous trees, its thick leafy covering starting to go barren as more leaves drifted down. “Now, I don't want to have to come up there after you, so if you don't get down right this instant I will leave you there.”

Webber waited patiently as Wilson tapped his foot, looking irritated and very distracted.

And then he suddenly seemed to realize something.

“Oh, my apologies Webber!” He swung around, Webber already nodding as they stepped closer to meet him. “I barely even realized you were there, you should speak up.”

The man's eyes had to go up, far up to meet their own, a second of hesitation as if he hadn't realized the extent of it.

“...Haven’t died anytime recently, have you?” 

Sometimes Mr. Higgsbury was very, very blunt, but Webber didn't take any offense to it. After all, he was right!

“Nope!” Their mandibles wiggled and limbs spread about as they shook their head, trying to not feel as if they were looming over their friend. They puffed up their fur, clicking deep in their throat with their own pride. “We've even got our own nest together and everything!”

“That's good, that's good.” Wilson scratched at his chin, still looking up at them with squinted eyes, opening his mouth as if to speak again before another horrendous yowling broke out above them.

With that he threw up his hands with an exasperated hiss, spinning around to glare once more up at the tree.

“If you want to come down so bad you'd jump down like every other blasted individual of your kind, don't go blaming everything on me!”

Webber tilted their head, drawing their limbs close as they blinked their eyes out of sync and tried to catch sight of anything among the branches.

“Is someone up there, Mister Wilson?”

“Yes yes, it's the bloody cat!” The man stomped his foot, looking even angrier with all the wrinkles on his face drawing tight. Webber glanced at him, clicking in their throat at the sight of his greying hair and the ever so slight stoop to his back. “She got stuck up there this morning, hell damned fool that she is, and won't come down.”

With that he raised a dulled claw up at the tree, stumbling over his words a moment before just shaking a fist. “And I'm not going up there to get you!”

“How'd she get up there?” Webber tilted their head, looking back and forth between tree and rather short man. They knew catcoons were rather heavy creatures, which made them not climb things all too often. 

Having never had one before personally, Webber couldn't make too many assumptions though. All they knew was that catcoons sure did like jumping onto their head and trying to play with their limbs, in a rather violent manner, unfortunately.

“I don't know!” Wilson threw up his hands, finally just closing his eyes and rubbing at his rather wrinkled forehead. “One minute she's napping on the alchemy machine, the next she's up a tree and blaming me for everything.”

Webber politely didn't question how a cat could blame someone for such a thing. It was just a cat, after all, and they weren't so sure on how smart cats were. 

Miss Wickerbottom would probably smack them on the head with a book if they ever said that in her presence. She liked cats.

Webber was sure Wilson wouldn't hit them like that, but it wasn't nice to say mean things about stuff other people like.

Though, with how angry Wilson looked, it was possible he didn't even like his cat.

A low growling meow above them seemed as if an answer to Wilsons ranting, which made him cross his arms and huff.

“I don't even think I can climb that either…” he said absentmindedly, scratching his scruffy chin with dulled, slightly cracked talons.

Webber brightened up.

“We can do that for you, Mister Wilson!” They headed for the tree trunk, mind already made up as the other man started, as if forgetting they were still there. “Climbing trees is really easy for us!”

“Oh…” They glanced back a moment as Wilson seemed a little crestfallen for some reason, but then he nodded his head, running a clawed hand through his greying hair and wincing as another yowl broke out from the trapped cat above. “Thank you, Webber, I would really appreciate it.”

Webber churred in the back of their throat as an answer, mandibles wiggling as they started to find footholds, claws easily catching in the niches and markings of the trunk, bark shredding ever so slightly as they hefted their weight up with ease. The bushy growth of the tree drifted down as they pushed passed the tangled branches, red and orange and dry leaves that stuck into their bristly fur, and it took a moment to spot the glowing eyes in the shade of leaves and growth, huddled close to the trunk on one particularly thick branch.

The catcoon pulled her lips back, exposing sharp fangs as she hissed and spat at their spider face and waving limbs.

“It's alright, we're here to help you.” Webber said calmly, or at least as calmly as a spider could. The catcoon didn't look reassured, fur puffing up and lashing her poofy tail. “We're just gonna get you down, Miss…?”

“Esmeralda!” Wilsons voice called down from below, having gotten close to the trunk and keeping a nervous eye up above. “Duchess Esmeralda the Third!”

Webber tilted their head, listening as an afterthought of Wilson's drifted up from the branches. 

“The First was gotten by hounds, and then the Second was...oh right, cave worms.”

Whether catcoons understood words or not, Duchess Esmeralda the Third certainly didn't look calmed whatsoever, and she spat again at Webber, licking her lips before growling deeply, wide eyes locked onto their face.

“It's okay Miss Esmeralda, we'll be extra careful.” Webber adjusted themselves in the branches, leaning to keep their balance and footing, before stretching out their hands, claws flat and open, to the cat.

She gave them a very long, piercing look, tail still lashing before stilling for just a moment.

Webber was able to catch sight of the telltale signs from how she bunched up her legs, crouched even lower as her ears went back, and then Duchess Esmeralda the Third leapt right onto their face.

By the time they had gotten down, very careful and slow, Wilson was tapping his foot and looking ever so slightly worried, pacing practically all around the tree trunk.

“Oh dear, are you okay Webber?”

Webber waved their hand, clicking in the back of their throat as Esmeralda continued her attempt to both claw their many eyes out and unhook her stuck claws at the same time, both of which was turning out unsuccessful. With careful hands, not wanting to accidentally hurt her, Webber reached up and easily unhooked the catcoon attached to their face, limbs wavering away as her claws lashed out in disdain.

“We're okay!” Webber whistled a spider sound, making Esmeralda flick her ears back and hiss. “Both of us!”

“Goodness.” Wilson reached up, easily taking the angry, puffed up catcoon, her tail lashing back and forth. Once in his arms she continued to give Webber the stink eye, ears back, but a few strokes of Wilson's dulled talons seemed to placate her.

It was almost comical with how large she was, the small man keeping the catcoon cradled close as he started to berate her. Even with his angry words, however, he continued to pet her, helping to flatten her puffed up fur.

“Wickerbottom would kill me if something happened to her.” Wilson looked up at Webber, still taking a moment to realize he needed to look higher than usual to reach their eyes. “I'm fairly certain she was thinking of it when I told her Esmeralda the Second had passed.”

Webber churred thoughtfully, but tried to reassure the short man. It was never a good thing, thinking of murder.

“Miss Wickerbottom wouldn't kill anyone over something like that, we're sure.” 

He didn't look like he believed them, but just huffed a sigh, the catcoon still giving Webber a narrowed gaze but also purring strongly in her owner's arms.

“Thank you, Webber, for the help. I don't know what I'd do if you hadn't been around, but I suspect it wouldn't have ended as well.”

Webber nodded, puffing up their fur and stretching their back to straighten up, happy to have helped. When Wilson turned to leave, however, they adjusted themselves and chirped, drawing his attention back for a moment.

“Do you want us to escort you back to your camp, Mister Wilson?” At his drawn face they hurriedly tried to smooth out their offer. “Just incase Miss Esmeralda runs off again!”

The short man thought about it for a moment, catcoon purring strongly in his arms, the wrinkles lining his face making his expression all sorts of rough and ragged, but at his short nod Webber clicked happily and bounded up next to him, just happy to have company for once.

“We haven't seen you in for-ever, Mister Wilson!” They stretched their words, looking up at some of the passing deciduous trees and whistling spider sound in an odd, disjointed tune. 

“I'm sure it hasn't been that long Webber.” Wilson looked down at his now seemingly calmed pet, the catcoon having closed her eyes and passively letting him tote her around. From this close, glancing down at the short man, Webber could see just how dulled his talons were now, all rounded and cracked in places.

A testament of time, as Miss Wickerbottom would say. She always said it whenever Webber complained about having to crouch or lean forward when entering tents.

“Since you and Mister Maxwell left, nope!” 

For a second there Webber saw an almost stumble in Wilsons step, as if caught off guard, but when they looked at him his face was scowling in that normal, scowling look he had, the misstep covered up.

But distracting Mister Wilson did accomplish something; he wasn't trying to hide the limp he had anymore, too preoccupied with what Webber had brought up.

“Then...I guess it has been awhile.” He kept his gaze on the ground, picking up his pace, and Webber kept close with their bigger steps, careful to eye and pay attention, just incase the man tripped and fell.

Old people fell a lot, they've noticed; Miss Wickerbottom had a cane, so she didn't as often, and usually someone was always there to help.

“I'm sorry about that, Webber.” His tone caught their attention, but he didn't look at them or slow down. “There is never enough time for me to visit, always something to get done.”

They were silent a moment, thinking with their limbs churning in the air and low clicked spider sound in their chest, before tilting their head and changing the subject.

“Do you need a cane, Mister Wilson?” That actually stopped him for a moment, a flash of indignation on his old face before Webber churred quietly and continued. “Miss Wickerbottom has a bunch of ‘em, some of them even MacTusky make!”

“I don't need a cane, Webber; I'm not that old.” The man puffed up, looking a little offended, but Webber brushed that off and pushed the subject.

“But you're limping!” That made Wilson look even more offended, but their voice grew a little more innocent and childish. “Don't you think a cane would help?”

The short man floundered for a moment, looking unhappy as he thought over what Webber said, catcoon in his arms oblivious to her surroundings and content to just keep purring as long as her owner pet her every once in awhile.

“Maybe…” Wilson said finally, turning away to keep walking. “I'll think about it.”

Webber nodded enthusiastically, not at all peeved by the response. At least now Wilson was going to remember it was an option, and that was all they could really do.

Wilsons camp wasn't all that far, though they realized it probably wouldn't be since those berry bushes were abundant nearby and someone like Wilson would want to stick close to food sources. There was a tree line, a windbreaker maybe, and Webber perked up at the sight of a well made tent and a few crockpots, the alchemy machine close to the fire pit much larger and more worked upon than the one in Wickerbottoms camp. Empty drying racks nearby, but they could see a fridge too, so at least Mister Wilson was doing well out here.

They had been feeling a little worried earlier, and seeing the empty camp suddenly reminded them of something.

“Where's Mister Maxwell?” Wilson had gone off with the other man, for reasons Webber didn't know nor really wanted to snoop into. Unlike Wendy, Webber was rather polite and didn't always want to know everyone's secrets.

After all, they wouldn't like it if someone tried to poke into their life all the time!

Wilson didn't answer for a few moments, setting the fat catcoon down near the alchemy machine, the grass yellowed and flattened all about it. Esmeralda gave them another stink eye, glowering, but then she turned about, swished her puffy tail, and wiggled her back end before hopping on top of the machine, circling about to sit and stare down at her owner almost regally. With the cat out of the way Wilson went over to the fridge, crouched down to dig inside it.

“Would you like anything, Webber? I don't have much at the moment, the farms being a little slow, but there's some jerky if you'd like.” 

Webber churred, mandibles twitching and clicking together in worried thought, and they were quiet a moment before tilting their head, moving a little closer to the fire pit and eyeing the the sun's position in the sky. Avoiding their question made them a little anxious.

“Mister Wilson…?”

Silence, for a moment, the short man avoiding looking at them, before standing up with a sigh and closing the fridges door, the hinges squeaking forebodingly. 

“It's been a few weeks after the hounds, so I suspect he'll be using a touchstone some time soon.” He turned around, giving Webber an almost, but not quite comforting smile. “I'm not too worried, so neither should you.”

Webber took a moment to nod their head, shallow and small, limbs pulling in close in thought.

But it really wasn't any of their business, what happened with Maxwell Carter. 

Sometimes they had fond memories of him; sometimes they didn't. There was no decision for them to make, nor did they want to; that was for Wendy to decide.

What they did feel was their business, however, was that their friend was out here all alone, without help. 

And they wanted to help.

“So, did you want anything?” Wilson was trying to change the subject, a little awkwardly, and he tapped his dulled claws against the metal of the fridge. “Jerky, or some berries? I think I have an old pumpkin in here…”

“No thank you, Mister Wilson, we're fine.” Webber swept their gaze about the camp,wondering what exactly they could do while they were here. There was a worktable near the alchemy machine, Duchess Esmeralda the Third having curled about and laid down on top of the hulking metal thing, eyeing them cautiously with her tail tip on her nose. Catching sight of the twigs and silk, some rope and rocks and all manner of simple stuff scattered about it, they trilled low in their throat and turned their many eyed gaze back to Wilson, who looked a little deep in thought.

“Can we make a few things, Mister Wilson? We'd like to help.” He looked a little unsure, as if he didn't want to offend them by saying no, so Webber made it a little easier. “We can make some nets, or maybe fishing rods? We're really good at those!”

Their over excited tone seemed to sway him, and Wilson nodded, another sigh as he rubbed his wrinkled forehead, claws going to brush through his greying hair.

“Alright, alright, you can do that Webber. I'll just...work on the machine a bit, then.” He sounded tired, and Webber chirped quietly and kept a watchful few eyes on him, making their way over to the table and letting their claws carefully brush over a few of the resources. As they spindled some of the silk up, talons easily curling and twisting the webbing, their limbs eagerly twitching as they picked up a few hefty sticks and eyed the rope, Wilson shuffled over to the machine at their side almost dejectedly. 

Sometimes they didn't understand why people acted certain ways, or why they did the things they did. Mister Wilson should move back to the bigger camp, where it was safer and easier for him to work.

It didn't take as long as a few weeks for a touchstone to activate, especially if it was close nearby.

Taking their supplies in bundled arms, limbs twirling a bit more webbing up to hold near their face and eye critically, Webber made their way to the fire pit, settling down and organizing everything in their own disjointed way. This seemed to please Wilson, who had been standing a little to the side of the machine as he examined it absentmindedly, and now he walked all about it, tapping the metal plating and searching the emptier worktable for tools, looking a little more focused instead of anxious.

Even sitting down Webber was still rather big, and they idly scratched their face with their limbs, fur puffing up as they shook themselves and started knitting the silk up with their free limbs, mandibles clicking as they whistled an idle spider tune. Preoccupied as they were, it didn't stop them from watching the short man with a few of their eyes, Wilson taking some electric, battery looking thingies in his talons and lifting up a hinge of metal plating, digging elbow deep into wires and cogs.

That alchemy machine sure was more advanced than the one they've grown so used to lately, with all its slow spinning parts and blocky additions. They wondered what some of those parts did, the levers and buttons jutting out in odd places.

Mister Wilson himself looked focused, definitely better now that they weren't in his work space, and he untangled one arm to brush his hair back, grease and some sort of oil staining his claws and then slicking back his hair with a sheen. 

They wondered if that was good for hair, and if it would make their fur shiny too. Then again, the short mans grey speckled hair was more dull looking, so maybe it wasn't a good thing. They wondered if they should say something, twirling the silk in their limbs into a net shape, thick twig and rope in their own claws.

But they didn't.

Instead, they finished the net, tightening the rope and testing it a moment, the swish if the silk and heftiness of the stick making it a little heavy but still useable. Setting it down, fiddling with the leftover silk and wondering if they had enough for a fishing rod, Webber looked up to see the sun setting into noon, remembering when they were younger and used to help Wilson all the time.

Or as often as they could anyway. Miss Wickerbottom was a rather strict teacher, and she still was at times.

They churred quietly, absentmindedly tying up the silk onto one of the bigger twigs, a stick that was smooth in their claws, limbs moving as their mind wandered a moment.

They used to camp with Wilson all the time; when did they stop, they wondered, and why?

A coughing fit interrupted them, twisting around to see smoke spew out of one of the compartments of the machine and Wilson backing up waving his talons, squinting and looking a little red faced. The catcoon was nowhere to be seen for a moment, before Webber caught sight of her under the worktable, looking incredibly unhappy and poofed up.

“Are you okay, Mister Wilson?” They started to get up, carefully setting the half finished rod aside, but Wilson shook his head and gave them a brief smile, as if trying to reassure them as he circled the alchemy machine and its smoking insides.

“It's okay Webber, no need to worry yourself!” He coughed some more, Webbers limbs dropping a bit, but finally seemed to find what he was looking for and yelling a brief “Aha!” before slapping his taloned hand onto a big yellow button.

The machine instantly made a deep chug of noise, grinding to a halt, and the smoke stopped erupting from its side.

“Just a miscalculation on my part, I forgot which wire was fine to trip.”

The man scratched his head, looking a little off put as he circled back around and poked his face into the compartment, a few swirls of leftover smoke rising past him. 

“I was so sure it was this one…” The man trailed off, leaning back, and Webber blinked their eyes all out of sync for a moment.

For some reason, the short man standing like that in front of the hulking machine reminded them of something.

“Mister Wilson, can we ask you something?”

“Hm?” The man turned his head, giving them a curious look, still a little ruffled and smudged from the smoke.

They thought on their words for a moment, mandibles clicking and limbs twitching, which unfortunately made the man shift a bit with their natural spider sound but when they spoke he settled.

They still remembered when they first had met, even as old as they are now. He hadn't liked them, back then.

“Mister Wilson, do you remember your parents?” 

They missed his rather surprised expression, completely startled, as their mind twisted on a memory that was tingling in the back of their mind. Something to do with their father, but they just couldn't grasp it. Too far back in the past now, even though it itched and made this feel familiar in some odd way.

Sometimes memory did that, made things feel weird. They've been told that's what happens after awhile, when growing up.

They didn't think they liked that all that much.

“We think we've forgotten some things…” Webber clicked deep in their throat, claws in their furry lap and limbs drooping, many eyes blinking out of sync. Esmeralda the Third watched them from under the wooden table, tail lashing irritably before taking a long, slow blink at them, turning away. “Sometimes we think we've forgotten _everything_ about them…”

Someone once told them that couldn't possibly be true, they'd never forget their family like that, but Webber was having more and more doubts nowadays.

“Well, I…” They looked up to see Wilson shuffle his feet, claws fiddling together as he looked distracted for a moment, before he made his way over and sat down next to them, crossing his legs. “I don't think I can really answer your question, Webber.”

They blinked their eyes, one by one. Sometimes it was so off putting to see someone who used to seem so big and strong and invincible looking look so much smaller and crooked, hollow even.

They decided, after a moment, that they didn't like the passing of time all that much anymore.

If a spider could sniff, they would have, but instead they churrled a low, dull sound, shoulders falling and fur flattening. 

They wondered if Wendy would laugh at them, if she knew they felt like crying. She never cried, no matter what, and while they wanted to they were the one to not even be able to.

A clawed hand on their arm made them look up, Wilson actually looking a little concerned.

“Does not remembering really worry you that much?”

Their limbs wavered, scratched over their face as their many eyes all blinked one by one, that vague feeling of tears there but not quite, and they made that spider sounding sniffle again, nodding their head slowly.

“We don't want to forget them, and-” Webber clicked in their throat, mandibles twitching as a thought suddenly occurred to them. “-and, what happens if we forget everyone?” 

Sometimes Miss Wickerbottom forgot them, and those times were scary because she always thought they were just a monster that was going to hurt everyone, and they wouldn't ever do that!

What happens, when they got old, if they forgot too? 

For a few moments Wilson didn't say anything, at a loss of words, and their limbs drooped, hunching their weight as their mind whirled in a foggy cloud.

Maybe they shouldn't have brought it up. After all, everyone knew Mister Higgsbury had trouble with remembering things, everyone was always telling Webber that, and that was why they had to be careful around him.

Maybe that's why they stopped camping with him. Maybe someone told them ages ago that they should keep away, incase he forgot them.

But, that wouldn't stop anyone else from forgetting them either. And what would stop Webber from forgetting everyone else?

“I never knew my parents.”

Webber looked over as Wilson leaned forward, claws setting up the fire pit, face lost in thought. They stuttered in a breath, mandibles wavering as they swallowed the spider sniffle in their throat, hand raising to their face automatically to brush the nonexistent tears they couldn't even have anymore.

“L-like Miss Willow?”

It was a distraction, they knew, but sometimes distractions were better than truths.

Wendy would say she didn't believe in that, but they knew better.

“Sort of.” The fire wasn't started, but charcoal and logs were built up and Wilson sat back, glancing over at them, face still walled off. “Though I think she's one of those people who likes to think she never had parents to begin with.”

Webber made a sound that might have been a laugh, or a chuckle.

Miss Willow was weird, but...she has never forgotten them, not even once.

“I had a few letters, here and there, but after awhile they just...stopped.” 

He didn't sound sad, Webber thought, blinking all their eyes out of sync. They felt awkward now, as big as they were and feeling like they just wanted to burst into tears, because their memory was doing funny things and they couldn't even remember what their parents looked like.

“So I can't really...offer you any comfort, Webber, I'm sorry.” Wilson looked over to them, mouth a thin frown with only his claws showing his nervousness, clicking together. “I'm really not the sort of person to be asking about parent stuff.”

“Like Miss Willow.” They huffed quietly, nodding their head and closing all their eyes for a moment.

“Yes, I…” The man trailed off a moment, lost in thought, before something almost like a smile and more like a grimace crossed his face. “Exactly like Willow.”

For a moment they both sat in silence, the small man lost in thought and the large spider hybrid quietly churring to themself, many white eyes glazed and lost.

Then Webber shook themself, fur and bristles puffing up as their limbs twitched and stretched about. Grabbing for the unfinished rod, they quickly got back to work, tying the silk and testing the strength of their knots, careful to not over bend the stick or break it.

Wilson watched them, his mind clearly wandering, and they clicked a spider whistle to get his attention, continuing to twine silk and knot it up tight as their voice rasped a moment.

They had another question now, but it was a little different this time.

“Mister Wilson?” 

When he blinked a few times and looked up at them, they cleared their throat, eyes all blinking out of sync.

They don't remember if they've ever asked him this before or not, but they felt the need now, even as old as they were.

“Is it alright if we call you dad?”

The silence was a little more deafening this time, Webber tilting their head and patiently waiting for an answer, many eyes watching the older mans face searchingly. He looked surprised, caught off guard, which they hadn't meant for at all, but then that grimace returned and Wilson wouldn't meet their eyes.

“I don't think that would be such a good idea, Webber.”

“...oh.”

They didn't know what they had been hoping for, not really, and their limbs dropped a bit, twitching absentmindedly.

They wondered why they even asked.

“I'm not-” Wilson shook his head, and that grimace was twitched upwards and he covered his mouth for a moment, the wrinkles on his forehead hardening as he closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, the short man stood up, focusing on the firepit and adjusting the logs, before he suddenly let out a sharp cackle of a laugh, shaking his head. “I'm not father material, Webber, not at all. It wouldn't do, to call me one.”

He turned to look at them, looking a smidgen hysterical but not enough to really worry them.

In fact, it was almost contagious.

“Just Wilson should be fine, right?”

After a moment, Webber nodded, bristles on their neck and shoulders puffing up as they churred a lighter sound, an almost spider smile on their face.

“Okay, Mister Wilson.” That, for some reason, made the man laugh even more, shaking his head as if it was some joke or other that only he knew. 

A few of their eyes caught sight of something moving nearby, Esmeralda the Third sneaking over to where the tent was set up, ears flickering as her tail held itself loosely. She gave them a passing glance, a slow blink, before slipping into the tent with the flick of her tail, and they blinked a few eyes to her a moment before turning their attention away.

At least Mister Wilson wasn't really all that alone out here.

They adjusted the fishing rod a moment more, a few eyes focusing in on it, before deciding that it was satisfactory and set it to the side with the finished net. When they looked back up Wilson had gotten the fire going, a quick look to the sky noting the setting sun, orange and red noon, and Webber slowly hefted themselves up to a stand, shaking themselves.

While they'd rather stay here, with their aging, lone friend, their own camp couldn't be forgotten. The spiderlings might come looking for them, and their nest was too young to fend for itself.

Webber was big now, not a little kid, and they couldn't leave their responsibility like that.

And, they convinced themself, they weren't really abandoning Wilson. Not at all, they hoped.

“Mister Wilson, can we ask you to do something for us?”

The man had been looking at the sky, watching the sun sink, and he turned to them, this time with a slightly exhausted look on his face, clicking his dulled claws together before crossing his arms and adopting a more relaxed stance.

They have been asking a lot of him today, but Webber chirped a spider whistle, mandibles twitching at the thought that this was going to be the last one, they promise. 

A moment of silence, as Wilson looked up at them expectantly, and they clasped their claws together, hoping they didn't sound demanding or pushy.

Wendy told them that they're not like that at all, but they still worried. Webber never wanted their size or appearance to become bullying in any way, not even by accident, but sometimes it felt like they couldn't help it.

“If Mister Maxwell doesn't come back in another few days, can you promise us you'll go find the others?”

Wilson hesitated a moment, that startled look on his face again, and he closed his eyes and sighed heavily, as if too stubborn to listen.

But he answered anyway, not meeting their many eyes.

“He'll be back before then.”

“But if he isn't?”

Silence, and Webber waited, patiently. They needed to leave, it was almost dark, but they couldn't consciously go when they haven't gotten a promise yet.

“Please, Mister Wilson.” Their voice dipped, limbs wavering and closing close, a few eyes eying the sunset. 

It was still really odd, to be so much bigger than Wilson P. Higgsbury, and it was even worse when he was hunching as he was, though he looked like he was trying not to.

Finally the short man heaved a sigh, dull claws rubbing at his face with care and then through his greying hair, defeated.

“Alright, Webber, alright. In another few days I'll go see if I can find anyone, okay?” He raised a dull talon their way, face hardening a moment. “But only if Maxwell doesn't show up, which he will.”

Webber nodded, limbs and mandibles waving about, a slight weight falling from their shoulders. It was the best they could get, at least.

And, with the sun dipping behind tall pines, they needed to leave.

Wilson seemed to realize this, and he seemed to soften, looking up at them with a small smile on his face. It made him look almost lopsided, awkward, and Webber whistled a spider tune pitched at different lengths, fur puffing up as something like a smile, but not quite, pulled at their face.

They made sure to not pick him up or manhandle him when they hugged him, bristles puffing up as they stooped down to wrap their arms about him, mandibles drawn close and many eyes sliding almost shut.

“You'll come visit us, right Mister Wilson?”

He laughed, lightly, and they remembered that he has never been all that good at giving hugs, always a little awkward, and that hasn't really changed, not really.

And it didn't make them sad, not at all.

Maybe next time they were young, and small and inexperienced, they'd camp with Wilson instead of anyone else.

“Of course Webber. I'll try to, anyway.”

Webber churred, finally pulling back and making the almost, but not quite, spider smile, mandibles stretching as all their eyes blinked out of sync.

Yes, maybe they'll stay with Wilson next time. That would be nice.

The short man gave them an unlit torch before they set off, digging through a few chests before finding it. He wanted to give them a lantern, but Webber politely declined taking such a thing from him and his camp.

They didn't need either items, but it was the thought that counted.

“Bye bye, Mister Wilson!” They waved a clawed hand, the sun almost done now, and a part of them was thinking of their tiny nest and all their friends, waiting for their return, but the other part of them was spider smiling and whistling and chirping farewells as the short man, outlined by the blazing fire and looking small, alone, and yet rock solid, waved back, watching them retreat into the darkening forest with a small smile on his face.

“Bye Webber! I'll see you later!” a moment of hesitance, before they could pass the thick tree line, and then one last farewell. “Be safe!”

They churred in their throat, a warm feeling in their chest as they held the torch close, many eyes already adjusting to the steadily increasing darkness. 

They really, really did hope they got to see Mister Wilson again, and soon.


	5. Just a talk

Trap making was such a tedious chore, but one that had to be done.

The rabbits weren't going to catch themselves, as Wilson was want to say, and Wendy sat alone in the enlarged camp, her tent behind her and swathes of bundled grass before her.

Summer was coming up fast, with the spring rains now tapered off and the ground slowly drying out, and everyone else had taken off to find the necessary supplies, or start to bunker down in the oasis.

She decided she'd rather take the duties of the main camp this year; while meeting Webber down in the caves would be nice, the darkness got to her more easily nowadays, and the oasis was already going to be full of everyone else who didn't want to do much besides bargain with giants and fish.

And someone did have to stay close by to make sure Wickerbottom was helped when she needed it. Wes seemed more inclined to the caves this time around, so Wendy had sighed and decided to take it upon herself to aid the elderly woman. 

Sometimes, she wondered if sticking around like she did was making her soft. While her friend seemed to get bigger and stronger and more than a little kid eaten by a spider so long ago, she felt as if she was starting to stagnate. Without Abigail by her side, it just seemed to be getting worse and worse each time.

Tightening one corner of the trap, checking its shape and stability, Wendy sighed, looking out over the deserted camp.

Even if she was trusted now to take care of things here alone, she was sure a good hound pack wouldn't find her to be much trouble. 

Again, without her sister, and she was useless.

It wasn't Abigail's fault, Wendy glancing back to her tent, where the flower that tied her sister to her was put safely away, grey and wilted and silent. She supposed that, compared to everyone else here, she would end up being one of the weaker ones.

...Webber would always try to cheer her up when they heard her say that, telling her that her strengths were different and that no one thought of her as a burden because of it. Wes would hop about, signing almost too fast, trying to make her laugh and yet, even though he failed, continued trying to keep her spirits up.

He didn't talk to her much anymore. 

Deep in her contemplating, Wendy almost didn't notice the sound of wood shaking and scraping together. It was only the fleshy noise that caught her attention, eyebrows raised as she looked over to where the effigies sat, tall and still and packed together in their own little corner.

A miniature garden of crucified souls, she thought bitterly, eyeing the one that was tied to her own being and remembering the blood she had spilled to create it. The one that was shivering and shaking, however, was more on the outskirts, and after a moment tumbled from its stand, legs jerking as its hollow insides filled out and almost tripped into another of its kind.

Wendy watched a moment at its struggles, obviously having trouble with getting the soul attached and then integrated into new flesh, before sighing heavily and setting the half made trap in her lap to the side.

No time like the present, she supposed, and with that in mind she dusted off her patchwork clothing and idly made her way over.

The effigy waved its arms around, whole structure shivering and shaking, and when she meandered close to the garden of wood mannequins it finally started to flake off wood, bark peeling away.

When she came back, it was slow going, making sure she didn't tear new flesh as she slid the pieces off. Wilson would throw them off, shaking the wood and hobbling about, testing his new reborn body, and Wes would jump and jog about, wait for the wood casing to fall off naturally. Willow would explode out, wooden shrapnel everywhere, and Wolfgang's swelled, cracked apart as if it couldn't hold all of him no matter how large the effigy was built. Wigfrid would tear herself out, crowing her own victory cry, and Wickerbottom slowly took off hers like clothing, piece by piece and completely unbothered. She's seen Woodie gnaw himself out when he got stuck, as if at ease encased in a wooden shell, and once seen WX78 appear, the wood flaking away like old paint and peeling off the robots rusted exterior. 

When it was just Webber and her, she'd always emerge first, and then take to waiting. Her friend was even slower, cautious, poking and prodding limbs out of the cracks in the armor, carefully pulling themself out when they're able to remove the helmeted head.

Much like something hatching, she had told them once, and Webber had replied by telling her it was very much like molting, except from a heavy, much too big body.

Watching the effigy flail about, as if in a panic, was a little different. She wasn't usually at camp long enough to ever see such a spectacle often, though past experience and memory served her well as she waited.

When it finally fell over was when the wood gave out, looking as if it was rotting off almost as the bark flaked and then split, allowing the man inside to scramble up and start dusting himself off, throwing off the chunks of rotten wood still clinging to him, not noticing her presence.

That was fairly normal, to not see her. Especially when it was her uncle.

“I suppose the day has not fared you well, uncle?”

He froze at her voice, then spun on his heel, dark gaze meeting her own, paler one.

For a moment, it was almost laughable that he realized he didn't have to look down at her anymore.

Perhaps he hadn't realized that she'd take after him in more ways than one; Webber liked to say that she was like an aspen tree almost, a thin one that no storm could break.

Wendy herself thought they exaggerated quite a bit at times.

“My day has been anything but.” Maxwell huffed at her, straightening his shoulders and still attempting to look down his nose at her, though it didn't work quite as well with her being almost his own height. His stance grew defensive, crossing his arms and growing tense, and it was very obvious he didn't want to talk about it.

Wendy tilted her head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, adopting a patronizing look she's perfected so long ago.

Nowadays it only worked on Wilson, unnerving the man, but that was perhaps due to his short stature. It felt unfair to treat him so, after all he's done for her and Webber, even with his inner incompetence, so Wendy usually kept herself to a neutral expression when around the others.

Her uncle, however, was fair game.

“Got on the bad side of your creations, perhaps?” She eyed him up and down, knowing she'd not see any injuries or tell tale signs but taking the moment of silence as a chance to unnerve him. “Something with too many teeth? Or maybe it had too much strength to handle?”

She waited just as he was about to speak, stiff and glowering now, before interrupting with an almost sing song, knowing voice.

“I highly recommend having armor on hand next time, uncle. It always helps, though I would have thought you knew that.”

His face hardened, the barest of a snarl crossing over, and Wendy watched him critically, watched his hands clench on his arms and shoulders stiffen.

It was funny, almost. Her dear uncle looked younger from the last time she's seen him, and on par with him now he looked even worse off.

This, she reminded herself, was just after a reincarnation; of course he'd be those few years young now. And, having experience with Webber, it wasn't just physical age that was lost after death.

Her friends manner of speech would change, the way they held themselves, how they thought and what they said out loud. As a child, her friend was different from when they eventually towered over her, bristly and heavy with spider eyes, the eventual loss of their own voice, only spider sound.

This wasn't something only her friend experienced. It was even odder to see change in the people she grew up around, the adults that survived out here, but it was even more disorienting when they returned to their older self after having a raging hound pack or grumpy giant tear their body apart.

An aspect of time and this long living place. Wickerbottom would tell her it was all a testament of time, but she never had a saying for the eventual regression everyone went through here.

Her uncle was younger now, mentally and physically, Wendy thought, looking him undauntedly in the eye, if just by a few short years.

“For your information,” he suddenly sneered at her, still trying to give the illusion that he was glaring down at her, “Armor would have done nothing to aid in my previous situation. Now, why don't you run along and go do the things that need to be done in this dreadful little camp?”

Wendy was able to quell her face twitch, kept herself neutral even as, internally, something in her got a little more agitated. Being treated like a child was something she was used to, especially with how she came back as one each time, and she didn't fault the others in their mistakes.

Something about the way her uncle had said it, however, made her feel a little less lenient.

“Perhaps I should guess again.” Wendy tilted her head, narrowed her eyes at the man as something snide and nasty entered her voice. “Got on the wrong side of a razor again, uncle?”

That got him.

“Watch your tongue, _niece_.” He hissed that, stiff as he took a threatening step forward, hands dropping to curl into fists. “Go back to doing whatever those fools told you to do and mind your own business.”

She held her ground, not at all daunted, not even bothered, and while her sister was not at her back this did not mean she'd just be pushed around willy nilly.

She was not a child anymore, and Wendy was not going to let herself be treated like one by someone like him.

And she already knew of her own wrong doings, of poking and prodding and pushing the wrong buttons on a person, but she also knew the rules. 

Her uncle was fair game.

“I find the fact that you have wasted a perfectly good effigy,” she tilted her head to eye the rotting remains of his wooden casket, ignoring the way he was most certainly losing his patience, “quite disappointing really. If I didn't know better, I'd call you masochistic, but I know a self saboteur when I see one.”

“Young lady, I will not stand for such blatant disrespect!” He stormed closer, face drawn into a hard sneer as he invaded her person space, hands curled into fists. “Especially from you.”

“Then don't.” Wendy eyed him lazily, mindful on exactly the best way to get him on the ground and incapacitated if she so needed to. Wes showed both Webber and her such tricks, clapping when they were able to knock him down after a bit of practice, and it was a good trick for pigmen screaming for her spider friends blood.

There was a question she wanted answered for this, however. Would her uncle really dare to lay a hand on her?

She held his pitch black gaze, still, focused, and his shoulders were shaking from his rage but for a moment nothing happened.

Then suddenly he backed off, crossed his arms and turned his back to her, that sneer still on his face but masking his anger and turning into something all too familiar.

“I shan’t then, since obviously you have not been taught well by the others. Where did your manners go, I wonder?” The chuckle from him was forced, still laced with rage and violence, but he looked away from her, completely giving off the air of ignoring her.

She supposed that was her answer then. He wouldn't dare.

“All the hard parenting work of my brother, and look how it has been squandered. He'd be disappointed in what his daughter has grown up into.” 

There was something mocking in his tone, almost as if he knew something she did not, and it took Wendy a moment to quell her own internal offense. Now was certainly not the time to be losing the mask she was using, especially since her dear uncle had almost given up his own.

She wasn't going to be the first one to break.

However, quips about that side of her family were not beneath her notice.

“My father's opinion of me is the least of my concern.” Wendy crossed her own arms, shifted her weight to one leg, eyeing him and keeping her face as neutral as possible. “I dare say that your criticism is quite heartening in fact, as I do not have a very high opinion of him.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, watched as he glanced at her, face just as masked off as her own. In all reality, she didn't have a high opinion of her uncle either; her own experiences rated them all too similar.

“Really, out of the both of us, I say that you take more from him, dear uncle.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, and Wendy quieted, held her breath as the reality of what she had said set in.

If Webber had been here, she'd have not said a thing. If her friend had been here, she'd have turned her head and ignored her resurrected uncle, an intruder in the camp, would have staunchly given him the cold shoulder and not even watch him leave when he'd finally storm off.

The air did not drop a few degrees, no matter the slight shiver that she shrugged off, but feeling the sudden tension in the air change was already warning enough.

She was pushing it too far, but for reasons she knew well enough Wendy did not find it in her best interest to stop.

She didn't catch his next words, too quiet, almost hissed, but her own voice grew a mocking tone to it, the thread of what could be spite, what could be some sort of unidentifiable rage, stringing up in her chest.

“What was that? I couldn't quite catch it.”

The older man rolled his shoulders,straightened up, and the tense air got a little icier as he cleared his throat, not even looking over to her.

“The apple never falls far from the tree.”

For half a second she almost believed that he was referring to himself.

But Wendy knew better.

“Take that back.”

Quiet, very quiet, and she narrowed her eyes at him, knew he was tense and waiting for her response, knew that both of them knew they were treading where they shouldn't.

If Webber had been here, or even Abby, she'd not be involved whatsoever.

But neither of them were here with her.

“And I suppose, if the tree was rotten to begin with, all its apples are rotten to the core as well.”

“You take that back.” She hissed this, jaw tight, hands curling into fists as unspeakable rage flowed through her.

As if he had a right to say that, as if he had a right to even begin to drag her sister into this. Abigail didn't deserve any of what had happened to her, none of it, and Wendy can accept her own failings but mocking her deceased sister was crossing the line.

“I really shouldn't have expected anything else. You are my brothers daughter, after all.”

Her uncle finally turned around, tilting his head as if to look down at her, and he must have thought he was coming out on top with that thin smirk on his face, an eyebrow raised as he observed her livid face.

“I am _nothing_ like my father.” Wendy glared at him, angry, angry beyond comprehension, for reasons only she knew and others she barely remembered. 

And, for a reason that angered her even more, she felt shorter, smaller, as if the man before her was indeed taller, stretched thin shadows that used to loom over her when it was just her and Abby, and it felt all far away but she kept her glare focused on his hated face, kept her rage under barely containing wraps.

Perhaps she has learned from Wilson all too much, for everything in her wanted to throw herself at her uncle and rip him to shreds, beat him into the ground.

The self proclaimed scientist wasn't like Wigfrid, didn't crow about his victories, but he'd talk to distract himself, and she's sat quietly by the fire as the short man fiddled with his sciencey machines and laughed and rambled, about how much satisfaction it gave him to bring pain to another human being.

He never realized she was there until too late, when he's been babbling about blood and pain and physical violence for far too long, and then he'd profusely apologize and promise that he's just been a little stressed lately, that wasn't really what he was meaning to say, who he truly was.

And then Wilson would have her promise him to never speak to another soul about what he said, to never tell anyone those things about him.

She hasn't broken that promise, never would, but now her mind swirled with those memories as she looked up at the pretentious bastard before her, a man she didn't even want to call blood relative.

In fact, she didn't quite consider him one. The word ‘uncle’, at this point, was a mocking one.

Perhaps he saw the change in her stance, or maybe he actually noticed the way she took a threatening step forward, but for a moment Maxwell actually looked like he was reconsidering his words.

But then that mocking smirk pasted over once more, that false mask that didn't work anymore now that he had none of the power backing it, and his next words made her see red.

“You are everything like him, don't deny it. A snotty, short tempered little brat who thinks the world revolves around you, that your actions have no consequences.” He met her next step, pitch black gaze meeting her own pale one, and his voice rose, his own anger creeping through. “You are _exactly_ like my brother, niece, and I expect the same things out of you as of him.”

The rage in his voice was different, darker, and for a second she wondered what he meant.

But she dismissed that. Wendy knew her father.

“Like father like daughter. You'll end up just like him, no matter what you try to do to change that.” Petty spite, she can hear that, misdirected perhaps, but Wendy was past the point where she could be lenient.

Water off a duck's back, as Webber would tell her, but Wendy was no duck.

Her hand shot out, grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him down those few small inches that separated their height still, shocked him just enough as she bared her teeth at him, absolutely livid, voice ice cold.

“You have no idea what you are talking about.” she hissed, quiet and stiff and emotionless, her anger not even tinting her voice anymore. “You have no idea what I've been through.”

“...Do I?”

The question hung in the air, surprising her, and, somehow, surprising him as well. The tense air, silent and cold, hung around them, waiting.

They were both talking about the same thing, she realized, but at the same time, not at all.

Wendy let him go.

Maxwell took a shuffled step back, hesitant, before his hands raised to brush off his suit and adjust his collar, not even looking at her anymore, silent. She wasn't baring her teeth like him, but her jaw was tight, mouth a thin line, taking steady breathes as the rage drained out of her.

Abigail would have killed him, had she been here. 

Webber would have broken up the fight before it could have gotten this far.

But neither of her closest friends were here, with her. She had to take care of this herself.

That was part of growing up, wasn't it? She had to take care of everything by herself now.

It angered her, in some small way, that she's been doing that since she was young, way too young.

The silence between them was still tense, awkward and cold and fringing with unsaid things, old memories.

Before, without a word, her uncle turned and walked away.

Wendy watched a moment, pale gaze following his straight back as he left the empty, overlarge campsite. He didn't stop, nor hesitate, and a moment later her uncle was gone.

She let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, hands finally uncurling from tightly clenched fists. The only thing left was the rotted remains of an effigy, the wood pocket marked and discolored, warped and crumbled into fine powder, and she leveled an emotionless stare to the makeshift casket for only a moment, mind turning emptily.

Before Wendy turned away, to go back to her trap making, to her preparations for this long summer, for the upcoming autumn, the winter, the spring, and then another summer. For the next many, many years, the turning of the seasons in this bastardized place.

No time like the present.


End file.
